


Have and to hold

by Marie_L



Category: Common Law
Genre: Angst, Demisexual Wes, Families of Choice, Kid Fic, M/M, Strong Language, Unabashed kid feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-02 18:10:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2821469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_L/pseuds/Marie_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Travis unexpectedly gains custody of a young daughter, and Wes tries to help out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have and to hold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slashersivi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashersivi/gifts).



 The smell of the CFS office brings back so many unpleasant memories for Travis that he squirms in his seat. Not that he wouldn't fidget anyway, but somehow the aroma of cheap furniture, burnt coffee and overworked bureaucratic desperation triggers his most deep-rooted childhood fears. _You are alone. You will always be alone. No one will ever love you. You can rely on no one but yourself._

Only this time, he isn't alone. The social worker looks up at them with that exasperated look of the perennially harried, for whom every visitor is an additional burden, but this time Travis isn't one of the terrified kids looking at every adult with hope and disappointment. Wes reaches over and absentmindedly rubs Travis' shoulder, although he's glaring at the caseworker in a way that suggests legal jabberwocky is about to spout from his mouth. Wes doesn't even realize what he's doing, all these small touches building up over the past few months; Travis knows far more than his partner what the little signs mean, but can't deal with it. Not now. He'll take the moral support any day, though.

"Would you stop wiggling, Travis?" Wes hisses at him. "You're not waiting for detention outside the principal's office."

The caseworker finally gets off the phone and shuffles files around her desk. "So, Travis, you ready to do this?" She wearily gives them a smile, for permanent custody with a competent, employed adult is always a happy outcome. "Ready to take Nevaeh home?"

"About as ready as stepping in front of a freight train, but here it goes." He signs the proffered papers and they all stand up, grinning at each other as the toddler is brought out from a back playroom. This is only the third time she's seen him, but she glances at him with shy familiarity, neither joy nor fear, then buries her face in the caretaker's shirt. On advice from Wes -- he's obviously no expert but he's at least been married, which is closer to suburban domesticity than Travis has ever been -- Travis brings a fuzzy stuffed dog as a peace offering. He holds it out to the girl, who eyes it for a few seconds before grabbing it and tucking it in next to her ratty Barney doll.

The caretaker hands her over and she settles into his arms, a warm little bundle whose head fits perfectly on his shoulder, her fat braids scratching at his scruff. He breathes his daughter in, a wave of love unexpectedly hitting him even though he barely knows her yet. "Want to go home little one? I'm ready," he whispers.

Now neither one of them will ever be alone.

 

******

 

Four weeks ago Travis received the call that would change his life. _Did you know a Vivian Williams?_ With barely a pause to recollect the name: Yes, he did. _Did you know she had a infant girl in March 2009?_ No, he did not. _She died last week from a drug overdose_ _._ Terribly sorry to hear that, but ... why are you calling? _Did you know she listed you as the father of the child on the birth certificate?_

No, Vivian abso-fucking-lutely never bothered to call to tell him that.

He did remember Vivian -- Viv The Model, spoken together as if it was her title. She lived up to her moniker, vivacious and fun, and a hard partier but not out of control at the time. He didn't recall any breach of his Always Condoms policy, but a few times hadn't exactly been sober on his end either, so there was that. They had bonded over the fact that they were both orphans, and both self-made people propelling themselves up from the bottom of the social hierarchy. She actually was around longer than a single night, about a month as he recalled, and he only called it off when, as traditionally happened, she began to talk of exclusivity and serious dating and all the other social signifiers that scared off a commitment-phobe like Travis Marks.

_Next of kin could not be located. Therefore Nevaeh Williams has been placed in temporary foster care with Child and Family Services._

That's all it took for Travis to get on the phone and demand to see the child's caseworker.

"Hey, buddy, you look like you swallowed a peanut."

"You remember that girl I dated three years ago? Vivian?"

"You'd classify what you do as _dating?_ Oh, wait, Viv The Model. You liked that one, and then once again she fell off the map."

"She had a kid."

The fact that Vivian named said kid Nevaeh -- heaven spelled backwards -- made Travis both smile and shake his head. It was a very Viv sort of name to saddle on another human being. He wondered what had happened that she allowed her life to fall apart, to spin out and crash and burn just when she had a brand new person to care for. Maybe he was giving her too much credit for control. Or maybe he was just angry with her for failing to pick up the fucking phone and call him, if not when the baby was born, then later when she obviously needed help. Why would she list him on the birth certificate if she didn't recognize on some level that he would step up if called, to avoid this very nightmare situation? Was that her back-up plan for a train wreck of a life?

He met the little girl, her caseworker and -- perhaps ominously -- a child psychologist at the CFS office five days later. Supervised of course, for no matter what names were on what pieces of paper, Child & Family Services did not hand small children off to random strange men that came to claim them. Wes wanted to come, and in fact was already obsessively reading up on family law to assist with the case. But for this first visit Travis begged him off, for it would look weird to bring a male friend with him, unless they were domestic partners or something. Travis knew all the tricks, all the little cultural norms that would label him "good father material" in the eyes of the bureaucrats that now acted as gatekeepers on a young child's life. He knew he could get it right.

Nevaeh was a pudgy little thing and way smaller than he expected, with her mother's lovely cocoa skin and three chunky pigtail braids sticking up from her head. For one stupid second he glanced at her eyes to see if they were blue, then remembered the approximately five million genetics conversations he himself had given over the years. They were light brown. She was quiet, too, sticking near the feet of her caseworker and lining up blocks on a table. No screams, no smiles.

He crawled down on his knees and approached her at her level. "Hi, I'm Travis. Nice blocks." She didn't respond or make eye contact, but she began to stack the blocks, green on green, with one only one hand because her other side was permanently glued to a purple dinosaur. Travis helped her make a little fence around the other toys on the table. Then he ran a tiny doll around the inner perimeter with a tinny high-pitched voice; "Help me! Help meeeee! I'm stuck!" She giggled and knocked down a door for him, then laughed even more.

"... so Step One will be to establish legal paternity through a DNA test, then a court order is required to ..." Travis couldn't even listen to the legal technobabble; maybe he _should_ have brought Wes under the guise of legal representation. He only cared about a single person in the room, and it wasn't an adult, it was the one putting dreams of Lego castles in his head.

Then the shrink threw out some words, stuff like _expressive language delay_ and _self-stimulatory behaviors_ and _autistic-like obsessive interests._ She didn't look too autistic to Travis -- she had gotten the game, didn't she? And even knocked over her own creation, which is something Wes, that lover of the rigid and orderly, might not do. Sure, it took Nevaeh awhile to warm up to strangers, but in the end she smiled at him, and looked him in the eye, and waved. The shrink grinned at the waving, considering that an excellent sign.

"... she's a sweet little girl, the good news is there's no evidence of attachment disorder or destructive behaviors resulting from neglect. With speech therapy, stability, and love, she'll blossom..."

Travis didn't stop smiling at her, and only nodded along to what the professionals have to say. Even if she never spoke a word, he knew at that instant he would love and protect her until the day he died. His only regret was not allowing Wes to come so he could get to know her too. Next time.

 

******

 

Wes is indeed there the next time, and at his court dates, and the final third playdate where they're allowed to go to a park. Travis is surprised there's no home inspection, which is his biggest indication so far that this isn't _foster care_ they are dickering about, but permanent custody. _Fatherhood._ He was a real parent, with real rights and responsibilities. The caseworker suspiciously eyes Wes at first, but a few well-placed comments on the toils of paperwork and they were bonded. After the first two visits, Travis can't stop talking about her.

"You're turning into one of them, you know. Those parents who speak of nothing but their kids. You have a job and a life, you know."

"Would you let me bask in the glow of being a father for two seconds? Besides, you love it too. I've seen you reading all those parenting books and lurking on CafeMom through lunch."

"You just need someone to demonstrate correct parenting techniques. You'll probably be one of those casual permissive parents that lets anything go. Scribble all over the walls with crayons? 'Oh, little Johnie’s just expressing his creative side.' Kids respond to routine and reasonable rules."

"Kids respond to love and play and fun. You don't have to treat them as little soldiers to discipline them."

"We'll see. Wait until you get her home and have to deal with her 24/7."

"Well Mr. Know-it-all, why don't you stay over when I bring Nevaeh home next week, and show me how it's done? You know she loves you."

"Now there's an idea both terrifying and tantalizing. Your double-wide is the size of a postage stamp."

"What, you've got something better going on in a swank hotel room? A hot date with Architectural Digest? C'mon, I'm trying to be the bigger man here and ask for help."

"A little nervous, huh? Hard to say no to grovelling."

In truth Travis might have ulterior motives for inducing Wes to stay over, besides the fact that Travis really does think he would make a great father. But despite their constant bickering, Wes continues to drop signs of interest like he never has before. Travis can't decide whether it's subliminal or deliberate, although he leans to the former. Wes is so bottled up that Travis doubts he could even recognize sexual interest if it rubbed him in the face. He can't help wondering _why now,_ though. They've been together for years, but only in recent months -- post-therapy, must be a factor -- has Wes seemed just a bit too close.

Sooner or later, Travis will confront his partner and put him to the test. He can only hope it won't push Wes away.

 

******

 

Nevaeh is only home four hours when the first crisis occurs.

They're doing so well, too. Playtime exploring her room and the rest of the tiny manufactured home, followed by a semi-nutritious kiddie lunch (mac and cheese and carrot sticks), then finally the coup de grace, successful naptime. They silently high-five each other and collapse on the couch, exhausted after a hard half day of doing nothing, and mime their Netflix preferences so as not to wake her up.

After a nice action-flick length sleep, Nevaeh wakes up. And _screams._ Wes runs over to sooth her but then screeches to a halt like there's an invisible wall.

"DUDE I AM SO NOT DEALING WITH THIS." He backs out, pale, not only out of the room but _out of the house._

Travis walks in and is bowled over by the smell. They had warned them that "toilet training might not be complete," but hey, she's _three_ and not wearing diapers on arrival, so Travis assumes it's okay. Apparently it's not okay, for the poor kid has not only gotten it everywhere, she's _rolled_ in it. _Nap diapers,_ he thinks desperately. Items now shot to the top of the shopping list. God, they'd probably need them for bedtime too.

He picks up the wailing child and plops her, still in her clothes, in the bathtub, followed by the sheets themselves for good rinse before the formal wash. Wes will probably never shower in here again when he sees this. Nevaeh calms down to sniffles with the warm water, and he coaxes a smile out of her when he finally breaks out the floating magnetic train set he'd been saving for later.

Wes comes in a full twenty minutes later, opening all the windows and clucking over the lack of a waterproof allergenic cover for the mattress. Travis can't help taunting him a little. "Hey, househusband, you mind tossing these sheets in the washing machine for me?"

"One word: No."

Travis laughs as they switch places, his partner monitoring the splashing kid while he deals with the dripping sheets. He never did mind the dirty work.

 

******

The next day they take Nevaeh shopping. She's only come with a few clothes, and although she's apparently got more, Vivian's possessions are held up somewhere in probate hell. Besides, the caseworker had mentioned that most of them were too small, another indication of Viv's descent from responsible parenthood at the end.

The first store they go into, they're overwhelmed by the gender apartheid on display.

"I don't recall any adult woman wearing this much pink. Ever."

"Well, they do break it up with the occasional purple accent. And flowers. Obligatory flowers and ruffles."

"Who  _needs_ this many princess dresses?" Nevaeh seems to agree; she wanders over to the boy's side and insistently tugs on a Thomas the Tank Engine shirt. They buy it.

The shopkeeper beams at the adorableness of the three of them, and seems to be under the profound impression that they are a gay couple. Neither one of them corrects her.

 

******

 

It takes a few days but Nevaeh finally uses a word. She's been pointing since her arrival, which the speech therapist gives a thumbs-up on reinforcing. So when she points at Wes and says "Da," Travis is overjoyed at the use of language.

"Yes! Dad. Daaaaaad! Say it again and I'll give you a marshmallow."

"Really, bribage? That's the best parenting you can do? Plus I'm not her Dad."

"Shhh, she used a word, good enough. Come on baby, do it again. Daaaaaad."

He waves the marshmallow at her and she reaches, grinning. He holds it just beyond her fingertips, repeating the sound until she gets frustrated. "Da! Da! Da!" she finally spits out, and he gives her _three_ marshmallows.

"It says here that young children often call all adults Mom or Dad, or sometimes all adults of the same gender. So it's a developmental stage."

"Thanks, Dr. Spock. It doesn't bother me if she calls you Dad too. If there's one thing I've learned in life, there's always room for more Moms and Dads." He waves another confection while she clearly yells, "Da! Da! Dada!" She's catching on.

 

******

 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Wes turns out to be the best block-stacking friend a toddler could ever want. The two of them spend hours lining up their chunks of wood to a degree that would impress the pyramid builders. Then he introduces her to dominoes, and declares her a fine-motor-skill genius when she proves able to line up three or four at a time before gleefully knocking them down.

Travis is more the imagination Dad. Puppets and monster caves and dragons, oh my. Nevaeh's lack of language limits her ability to produce any of this, but she's a rapt consumer, laughing hysterically at his facial expressions in his stories. Unless he messes with her blocks; then she'll yell "NO!" at a hundred decibels. Only she is allowed to knock down the blocks, although on occasion she graciously permits Wes a turn. They both are good at reading picture books, alternating funny voice characters as she drifts off between them.

 

 

******

 

Two weeks in the baby suddenly refuses to sleep in her own bed, so Travis snuggles with her on his, on top of the covers for easy transfer later. He sings the only song he can dredge up from childhood, over and over, reducing to hums as her eyes flutter down.

"You've really got to add something other than 'Twinkle Twinkle' to your repertoire," Wes whispers from the door.

Travis' eyes go wide in that "hush or I will cut you" manner he's been sporting at naptime all week. "You could help me you know," he hisses under his breath. "Especially if you're going to hang out here all night and eat my food." Wes has only slept over once before, but tonight they accidentally stay up late watching a "Dora the Explorer" marathon. It's a Friday, no work or day care center the next day, so why not?

So Wes lies down on the other side of Nevaeh and hums along too, for what's probably only two more minutes but feels like a hundred of boredom. Travis can see his steady breathing as he strokes the sleeping child's back, and their fingers touch lightly as they trail down the song. For the first time, Wes doesn't shy away at the contact, but lingers, as his breath speeds up. On impulse Travis reaches out and runs his fingers along Wes' jaw. His partner closes his eyes but still doesn't move, doesn't flinch or turn away, doesn't reject him, and Travis finally knows he's ready for something more.

"Stay here," Travis tells him. It's soft but not a request. He scoops up Nevaeh, Barney and Baba the Dog all in one bear hug and transfers her to her proper bed, closing the bedroom door behind him. When he returns Wes is still laying on the bed on his side, right where he left him.

Travis fluidly slides on top of the comforter so they're only inches from each other. Again he cups Wes' face but this time pulls him forward for a gentle kiss. It's sweet and a lot more skillful than Travis would have given Wes credit for, so he deepens it, clutching through his hair on the back of his head. When they break it off for a moment, they're both panting as they lie with foreheads together.

This is the moment Travis adores, which makes him come back for new lovers again and again. It's the moment when skin meets skin, when there's the tantalizing prospect of what could happen all night, when Travis' fertile imagination concocts all the ways he can make his partners moan and come. Already he can picture Wes' mouth around his cock taking him all the way in, or maybe splaying him out, toy inside him, teaching him to relax for once and let the pleasure wash over him. Or maybe he'll let Wes fuck him, watching him come undone and collapse on top of him, Travis' arms and legs wound tightly around him, as close as it's humanly possible to get. None of that was likely to occur this night, their first time, but the open _possibility_ that it could revs Travis like nothing else.

"Wait, wait," Wes says, interrupting that pleasant train of thought. Travis restrains his annoyance in the best way he knows how, by starting in on the buttons on the shirt.

"It's all right, baby," he murmurs. "We're not going to do anything you don't want to do. Just whatever makes us both feel good, okay?"

"First of all, don't call me 'baby'," Wes complains, and Travis chuckles and trails small sucks down the side of his neck. "Just .. fuck you are good at this ... let me get this out. I haven't been with a lot of people ..."

"I've been aware of your semi-virgin status for awhile now, Alex notwithstanding. How many times have I told you getting laid would be good for you?"

"Okay, _virgin_ is a gross exaggeration. I just ... don't really feel that way about people unless I _know_ them and am friends with them already. Never have."

"You had sex dreams about Dr. Ryan."

"After we were in therapy for months and I got to know her? I rest my case."

"So ... what does this have to do with tonight? Are you trying to declare your undying love for me?"

"You know, Travis you really are an asshole sometimes. What I'm saying is, I don't want you to run away when we wake up tomorrow, for once. I mean, you couldn't even stay with the mother of your child for more than a month, despite the fact that it was a perfectly good beginning of a relationship."

"Are you seriously haranguing me for not marrying a drug addict?"

"You didn't see that at the time. You don't know what all of your lives might have been had you stuck with her. But I'm talking about _us,_ here and now. If we do this, I want to _be_ together, on some sort of to-be-negotiated basis. I've been here for Nevaeh, I've been there as your partner and your friend. Are you capable of reciprocating?"

Travis wraps his arms around Wes, hugging tightly like he imagined, only with far too many inconvenient clothes. "I'll try, okay? I promise."

"You're just saying that because you're horny."

"True, you might have to extract that promise again from me in the morning." They both laugh, for they know Travis hasn't had his normal rotation of lovers in lately. Wes thinks it's because having someone over with a sleeping kid next door is too awkward, but in truth Travis could get over that under certain circumstances, as this night is proving out. The real reason is lying with him in the bed. Such a simple and difficult thing to admit, though.

Wes finally relaxes to his touch, so Travis lays off the pressure for the moment. He strokes his hair and says, "Even though you've been there for me more than anyone else in my life, ever, it's still hard to trust. I don't know why its so much harder to trust someone in bed rather than with a gun in their hand. I'm afraid of being alone, but then it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"You write your own prophecies, you know. You just ... agree to be with me tomorrow. Just tomorrow, don't worry about the next day. And then the day after that you wake up and do the same."

"Is this where I can kiss you again, Wes Mitchell?"

"Please. I forgot what it was like to be kissed. I don't know if I've ever been kissed like this. Just ... more." He moans as Travis complies, and the two of them rub together, lazily pressing their cocks together through their clothes.

Then Nevaeh decides to wake up. _"Fuck,"_ they both swear simultaneously, then collapse with more muffled laughter.

"Your daughter wants you, Dad," Wes whispers.

"I already put her to bed once, so it's your turn, Dad," Travis retorts. Wes' eyes shine, and he leans in for another lingering kiss before pushing off the bed. Their little one calls, and they respond.

 

 


End file.
